


Loud Light

by jentaro



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: IT IS ALSO EXTREMELY FULL OF SPOILERS, M/M, elias bouchard said slut rights, i dont respect either of these gay people, this is Extremely explicit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-08
Updated: 2020-02-08
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:20:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22608421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jentaro/pseuds/jentaro
Summary: If there is one person on earth that he would ever submit to the mortifying ordeal of beingknownby, Elias Bouchard hasn't found them yet.
Relationships: Elias Bouchard/Peter Lukas
Comments: 28
Kudos: 247





	Loud Light

**Author's Note:**

> i spent three weeks viciously tearing through tma so of course the first thing i have done is write about the middle/old aged bastard men. technically they are young men here, but my point still stands. you can catch me on tumblr @jennyloggins or on twitter @somegarbageisok on main or @slimejen where i do most of my tma posting. let me know how y'all like it :^)

Intimacy truly can be an art form depending on who is performing it at any given moment, and depending on who is receiving it. This is a philosophy that has followed Elias from the very beginning, having never been a man of outward closeness to _anyone_ —even before Jonah had cursed him on a whim. Intimacy is a well crafted game, an elaborate chess game to see who could persevere the longest without losing. A game that he would _never_ lose.

Growing up, he had never really connected with too many people, but Elias Bouchard had also never been a man on his own island of indifference. Knowledge became something Elias was very keen to obtain, and his own… personal sense of intimacy with himself started with summers stowed away at the public library like some sort of Matilda. Minus the very whimsical telekinesis powers, of course, a point of disappointment that only lasted as long as it took him to advance his reading level to topics he had to sneak out of the special permission/advanced/academic sections. Being chastised by the librarian had been a regular occurrence as a child for Elias, but it hadn't been too much of a bother.

Sitting in the library in a quiet, abandoned corner surrounded by large windows, the calm as he spent hours indoors instead of outside _playing_... Nothing could compare. Starting school years further ahead than his peers allowed him to slack off in class and come back from daydreaming with the right answers nearly all the time. Homework was a point of struggle since Elias never saw the _point_ of that kind of circular busy work—not until much later, at least—but he could get near perfect marks on most tests which proved to be his saving grace.

Treating himself to a book, a form of affection for himself as he devoured the pages, absorbing words as fast as he could. The familiarity of gently turning pages, of caressing the spine carefully as the book he was about to pick up rested on a shelf, of tracing the embossed letters on an old hardcover. Considerately opening older volumes and inhaling the scent of decades of dust and just barely kept-at-bay rot. Something so old with so much wisdom ripe for the taking, it almost seemed a crime that nobody else wanted to take as much advantage of this kind of _free_ knowledge as possible.

Growing older, as a teen, he had traded books for video games and weed. Unfortunately, it had been the natural progression of his discovery of intimacy relating to himself. Connecting to himself in a way that nobody else would be able to connect with him, laying in bed baked out of his mind at night exploring what it meant for himself to be alive. To be _afraid_. Going down the metaphorical rabbit hole and back again between shitty weed, music, and stupid movies that _were_ much deeper than critics reviewed them as. 

Knowing an album inside and out, picking out the instruments individually and the vocals, the lyrics and meanings behind it all. Picking apart a movie by characters and by themes, good dialogue vs bad, the settings and lighting and the final cuts themselves. Lost inside his own head pondering human emotion and connection—something that had never been essential to him. Elias Bouchard had never felt the need to necessarily be attached to people emotionally. His whole life had been one emotional roadblock after another from having very few friendships to no close family. Living with his parents until uni had been a given, of course, but as soon as he could, Elias had moved into a flat of his own. An especially needed bit of silence since his major had a light course load of Philosophy, Politics, and Economics. 

Being alone, he could breathe easy, relief at not having to answer to anyone but himself. Coming home after a long day and sitting on the world’s sixtieth most uncomfortable couch (an approximation, at first, but as it turned out it had been the sixty-thousandth, four hundred and thirty eighth most uncomfortable couch on earth at that time), dropping into what could be loosely labeled as a self-care routine by putting on the television, ordering the Indian takeaway from around the corner, and packing a bowl while he waited. 

Almost a shame that so much time had been spent on menial labor if not for the invaluable experience it gave Elias to have worked with the worst of the general public. Getting spat at and money thrown at him bitterly from over a counter by some twat who couldn't understand the company policy that he was bound by while his manager would come right up and undermine him every single time there were a problem. Working with _people_ had been the real nightmare, but Elias would still find time once in a while to hang out with his coworkers, if only to eat up the gossip and reactions _to_ said gossip. 

Even catty knowledge was just that, _knowledge_. To the point where his coworkers and the few college friends he had would tell him their secrets that Elias would lock up in his mind and throw away the key to. Knowledge that nobody else held except for the originator, a delicious concept, to be able to sit with someone who barely knew him and have them pour their secrets out to him with so little effort that he wondered if he had some sort of magic power.

The intimacy of someone else letting their fears and frustrations be so utterly _known_ by somebody else. To give him the first verbal chronicle, to retain the only copy of that information, it felt absolutely euphoric. Being able to recall the information at a later date to blackmail someone was a much more insidious form of intimacy that Elias had not used until much later, of course, but knowing that he was tethered to someone through their _information_...

His own secrets, Elias kept closely guarded. Those were for himself, of course, but there was a stark difference between being the keeper and being the pawn in his unknown game. Learning what made someone else afraid, what made them _tick_ , it was as satisfying as any number of drugs.

The meaning of intimacy for him never quite changed while he was still just Elias, because as far as he was concerned? All it meant was making communion with himself in various stages of his development.

Being physically close with someone, for the times he had sought the understanding of raw pleasure taken from another person, had never been about maintaining a strict boundary that nobody was allowed to cross in regard to whatever _feelings_ he buried deep inside, that sort of thought never remotely crossed his mind. Rather, Elias was more concerned with taking all that would be given and giving back in the loosest sense of the word. Only to know _how_ , never to make it _too_ good for the other person—he usually went home with someone to study them, not to stay the night and fall into a relationship or something so trite as that. Leave the cohabitating to people who wanted it, _not_ to him. 

The first time he had felt someone slide up behind him at a nightclub, Elias had been quite out of his body in terms of being attached to the feeling of his heart racing while he danced with a stranger along to some song he could barely hear over the bass. The stranger’s hands felt him up in such a way that made his breath catch in his throat, high on some drug that had been passed to him, feeling like he was burning up in his clothes and sweating through them all the same. Lips on his neck, hot breath fanning out across his skin making Elias shiver. Hard, panting, whining when his dick was groped while grinding back against his unintentional mark.

The intimacy of two strangers seeking out a moment of raw passion, and Elias refused to build the bridge between them beyond being led to the bathroom and fucked hard enough to make his legs feel like jelly. The feeling of inconsiderate, thoughtless, raw, positively venereal passion made Elias cum without being touched that night.

_Fascinating_.

Unceremoniously dumped to the floor and left to clean up the mess leaking from his ass and onto his trousers. Being so thoroughly used and discarded, left to recover on his own with a _delicious_ addition of sensations that he now understood. That particular encounter had been a self-focused fantasy. It could have been _any_ man, and while Elias had never seen his face, he _knew_ him in how he took advantage of drunk and drugged men. Elias had wanted every single moment of it, to feel the juncture of pleasure and pain so _thoroughly_. Just to _know_ ; now that he had the knowledge, he found other encounters that were much more consensual or gentle… lacking. Of course, the topic of consent in and of itself was of a very personal nature to quite nearly everybody, and it was an important conversation to have with anyone from a one night stand to a lover, sure, but Elias adamantly not looking for a relationship was the key in the sexual situations he got himself into going forward. He never took advantage of anyone else, of course, but any sort of thought into his own comfort was quite _un_ comfortable.

People who wanted to take him home and crack open a bottle of wine and _talk_ were a fate worse than death, perhaps. But if that were the itinerary for the evening, Elias would usually talk about himself in the most annoying, condescending way he could to see how fast the encounter would sour to only be salvaged by sex. Academic accomplishments in primary, in secondary, into uni too of course. Dry in his delivery, asking his companion for the evening what similar things they had done—usually nothing so pretentious sounding as himself of course. Self-congratulatory pomp that either got him kicked out or got him face down on a mattress and fucked in a rather dissatisfying manner.

Detachment with his environment, from people altogether, yet remaining cautiously friendly enough to loosely be a part of social circles. Being able to insert himself into a conversation based on an approximation of knowledge about the participants based on everything he had learned about people was _definitely_ a skill he had developed thoroughly. Becoming intimately acquainted with finding the type of person that would be interested in telling him something he had never heard before, Elias could practically pick someone like that out from a crowd by now. All to sate his own curiosity about the spectrum of human emotion and experiences. A few intriguing women who would dote on him in bed after an insightful conversation, and far more men would toss him around like a rag doll. All of it purely fun and games while Elias tried to figure out what the yearning he felt inside represented.

The feeling was not foreign to him in early adulthood, but Elias knew enough about himself to deduce that he didn't want a relationship, nor did he want any kind of other special meaning from hookups beyond getting off. So left the question of what he was _missing_ —short of learning government secrets, Elias could say he had quite a bit of knowledge about near _everything_ , and because of that, the boredom was setting in. An apathy surrounding the very air he breathed, seemingly.

Applying for a bottom of the ladder job at The Magnus Institute had been a joke, mostly. With a degree completely irrelevant to the whole… deal, it had more been on the insistence of looking around in the help wanted section of the newspaper by a hookup that insisted a job change could help with his, as he had called it, ‘passive and dull disposition’. An observation that had been quite unprompted after a thoroughly mediocre romp. 

_“And what makes you say_ that _,” Elias had said while buttoning up his trousers and looking for his shirt on the floor._

_“Before I brought you home, you said you weren’t sure what you were looking for tonight, but I’m willing to bet you're not sure what you're looking for at_ all _. In my experience, it usually means you should quit your job and find a new one, shake things up. At the very least so that when you go out, you’re not making others suffer the same boredom you made me experience.”_

His partner for the night laid upon his bed looking through him seemingly, naked and on display and wholly unappetizing save for the sharp blue eyes that Elias almost wished he could keep in a jar in his bedroom, as entrancing as they were. However, for Elias to be _read_ by an absolute stranger, it was absolutely _fascinating_. And then unceremoniously told to get the fuck out after banter gone gloriously acrid had been the icing on the cake of the evening besides the part where his rotten behavior had been _so_ obvious to another person.

Truly, though, even becoming a file clerk for such an organization, Elias took to it quite quickly. Everything seemed a perpetual mess, proving to give him much to do, thankfully. The interview itself had been… interesting, to say the least. James Wright seemed a busy man who looked like he had much more important things to do than be the person who hires employees directly. Elias had walked into the interview expecting a hiring manager juggling applications and being a corporate approximation of friendly, but it had just been an older man with the one folder with his resume and application inside. 

That had been the second time that a stranger had been able to see through him, though, but this time it was a feeling that didn't sit well with him. Unlike the fascination from the random person he'd slept with, this sort of observation had left him oddly violated. As if his thoughts, his experiences were being scanned and sifted through while this unassuming older man asked him about his schooling. Rattling off accomplishments, feeling the hair on the back of his neck stand up the whole time. 

_James Wright had been nothing but polite and calculated during the whole interview, which felt somehow ...wrong. They had just been discussing the particulars of his skillset that would help him with being able to do the work, and the topic of salary came up. It was absurd, watching him take a piece of memo paper, picking up a fountain pen as he started writing while Elias sat still, vaguely sweating._

_When the piece of paper slid over the desk at him, Elias actually_ laughed _. “You must be_ joking _—for… for a file clerk?”_

_“Too low?” James raised an eyebrow at him, pulling the paper back and writing a different, also ludicrously seeming amount on the paper. Sharp, icy blue eyes looked at him, seeming_ so _familiar, and he said, “I like to invest in my employees, and I am open to contract negotiations.”_

_“Admirable, but I would hardly think that a filing clerk is worth as much as you are implying I could be.”_

_“Your application was amongst dozens, and you have caught my eye,” an ominous statement considering the suddenly thick atmosphere. “_ Especially with your third class honors degree from Christ Church. Impressive piece of paper going to waste in your current …situation. File Clerk is the only position we have open, but there are other positions that are opinening quite soon that I would love to see you advance to.”

Elias is not so above himself to not have nerves, and all _of them are firing off under the scrutiny. Something about this situation is so ...hypnotic. Gingerly touching the piece of paper and sliding it closer for him to scrutinize, Elias could feel every bit of his lips twist into a smug smile. “If you’re sure I would be that much of an asset to warrant this salary, then where do I sign?”_

_“Right on this line,” James said after he procured the employment contract, filling in the salary in the designated spot, and then handing it over for Elias to look through._

* * *

Partnered intimacy, in its most _base_ form, it never quite held up to the feeling of being solitary. Ever. Elias remained as adamant of this one simple fact—an interesting keepsake of his personality from before James, rather, Jonah, had torn his eyes out and replaced them with his own. Absorbing him, inhabiting his body and his mind completely and totally. Jonah, always present behind the reins of a body that moved to his command. They were one in the same, of course, but the nagging voice of Elias Bouchard was _much_ stronger than that of James Wright.

No longer an old man anymore, in a much fresher, _younger_ body that had much more exciting cravings than to go to sleep at ten at night. James’ had not been the first body Jonah requisitioned, but unfortunately, a man being more fit in youth does not guarantee the same assurance as one ages. Elias Bouchard though, his body is _much_ more fun to play around with. 

Thoughts for another moment for when he could let his mind run away from him to appease the host, now too close to an appointment with Nathaniel to discuss some rather boring budget concerns. Sitting in his same office with a new name attached to the door, having decided to redecorate to a dark mahogany theme, Elias tapped his pen on the richly colored leather desk mat. The desk itself stained beautifully with the red undertone coming through just _so_ , a new lamp that he could change the position on to suit his lighting needs rather than the dim, shabby little thing leftover from the ‘50s that James had fought to keep.

New blinds on the windows, new chairs that were only just a hair away from comfortable, bookshelves that were stained a contrasting shade of lighter brown to go with the theme of the room. The walls were also freshly painted in a rather sinister shade of tan that purported the illusion of comfort, but really felt quite unwelcoming the longer someone were in his space. His favorite piece however was the newly assembled glass cabinet containing the strung up bones of one Barnabas Bennett, a reminder to himself and to each incarnation of a member of the Lukas family just how far their business relationship went back. A feature that he would no doubt take down after a few years, but just to shake things up, the bones would always inevitably come out every once in a while.

The day itself had foreshadowed the Lukas presence, dreary and cold, spots of rain just heavy enough to be annoying, just like Nathaniel himself (though, he could hardly throw stones in his glass house). If there were anything Jonah— _Elias_ , not Jonah. Or James. Elias Bouchard, new head of The Magnus Institute—knew how to be, it was _annoying_. Elias had lived a petulant enough life so far, going on and on about keeping himself away from all forms of closeness with a single other soul. If Jonah hadn't sought out the carefully built Watcher’s energy to find a suitable replacement, the kid would have been an excellent avatar for the Lonely. 

As such, Elias’ grin curls unpleasantly when his receptionist buzzes him to let him know that Mr. Lukas is here to see him. Through the unsettling portraits in the lobby however, the man that was about to enter was decidedly _not_ Nathaniel. Instead, replaced by a man who he knew immediately as Peter Lukas. He’s always much taller in person than expected with long, dark brown hair peppered with a hint of grey that he kept half tied up at the top, beard cropped neatly to his face, and the most gorgeous set of grey eyes this side of the Atlantic. Captain of The Tundra, a ship in Nathaniel’s fleet. And there, the _delicious_ confusion on the man’s face, having been briefed by Nathaniel that he was to go to the meeting with James Wright only to be told Elias Bouchard was expecting him. Elias had met Peter a decade or two ago in passing (and had known that Peter had _hated_ James), back before he had become so entrenched in his own selfish grandeur, but the man here to see him…

Is _Elias’_ type. Sturdy, handsome, dressed expensively and yet still absolutely _thoughtless_ in his presentation. Dark grey knitted sweater, black pants with black shoes just a shade lighter, a dark blue coat that fell to his knees with a silver chain peeking out attached to his pocket watch. None of the colors match in the slightest. The man himself had a friendly enough disposition despite the annoyance he could feel under the surface for how the rain intensified. Elias knew better.

Peter Lukas did not know Elias Bouchard, but Elias knew _him_. Though Jonah did factually know him, Elias’ penchant for observation is proving _quite_ useful. Something Jonah had never bothered much with, Elias is taking insurmountable joy in reading Peter Lukas’ tense body language as the perplexing nature of the situation unfolds. 

He can hear the soft timbre of Peter’s voice as he asks the receptionist what had happened to Mr. Wright, and he can see the layers to his shock when she tells him that he had recently passed. 

“And nobody thought to inform my family?”

“It was quite sudden, I was sure that Mr. Bouchard had sent word, but he may have forgotten in the bustle of his promotion…”

Sitting in his office with his legs crossed ever so daintily behind his desk, Elias jumped from different sets of eyes as Peter headed toward his office—from the occasional employee breaking Peter’s peaceful (lonely) walk up to his office to the portraits on the wall of various people who had been important in the past. Watching him school himself into a more pleasant disposition to facilitate this meeting. No doubt he thought it was going to be _boring_ , Elias could tell from the squared shoulders alone. To be fair? Elias also is not a fan of meetings like this and would rather be left alone with his projects.

There is a knock on his office door, and Elias takes a moment to smooth his hair down and straighten any folds in his clothing. A _long_ moment, ignoring him until the second, _much_ less patient knock comes through. Clearing his throat, Elias puts his pen down in the holder and says a polite, “Come in.”

Peter Lukas is much more impressive in person, and Elias is pleased to note the moment of enrapturement that passes over his features before he walks in and closes the door. Only then does he stand and extend his hand to shake.

“I was under the impression I was to meet with Nathaniel today, are you..?” Playing the misinformed card. The handshake is quick, but Elias was practically buzzing with energy at the way Peter clasped his one hand with both of his for just a moment too long before letting go.

“It seems we were both expecting someone different then. Peter Lukas, at your service.” His voice is much easier on the ears than Elias expected, and his hands just a touch rough. He can smell the Lonely all over him, frigid and damp like waves crashing along the sides of an empty boat in the dead of winter. Soothed only by the care put into upkeeping that visage of being steadfast. Absolutely _delightful_.

“It seems so. Elias Bouchard, pleased to make your acquaintance. I do apologize, I meant to send word of our dearly departed director James Wright over to Moorland House as soon as possible but I was swept up in quite a lot of chaos. I was very suddenly promoted without having known at all that I was even remotely in line for this position. However, it seems that James left some extremely ...thorough instructions for me.”

“A stroke of luck to be sure,” Peter says while looking around the office, then taking a seat as Elias does.

“However, I _was_ prepared to meet Nathaniel, but I am assuming he has sent you in his stead, Peter?”

“That he did, wretched man had me come back onshore as an ‘emergency’, really, he could have still made it here. I suppose I owed him the favor, though.” Watching him is intriguing, the wording coming to him as he looked again for a moment too long at Elias, causing him to grin just a little wider. 

“A pity for your free time, surely. But I won't keep you too long, I know you must be a busy man.”

“Nonsense, I have all the time in the world to go over… what are we going over?” Flashing him a charming smile and leaning forward in the chair ever so slightly.

So the interest was mutual? _Fascinating_.

“We are going over the budget for the next quarter, including the,” flipping through pages, Elias finds what he's looking for with a quiet ‘aha’ and continues, briefly caught up in deliberately reading directly from the page, “…the acquisition of new staff members for artifact storage as well as in the library. It seems that a few unfortunate people met a rather untimely end thanks to a cursed _wind chime_ that rang at such a high frequency that it… well, let’s just say it has been wrapped up in so much packing wrap and duct tape in its box that it won't cause any heads to pop again.”

Peter chuckles quietly, a sound that surrounds him so thoroughly for how low it had been. “I never understood why you lot don't just burn or dismantle the cursed items completely.”

“Neither did I until manning the helm, so to speak,” Elias says as he crosses his legs again behind his desk, putting the budget memo down on top of the leather mat again.

“Should I call you captain?” 

This time, Elias is the one to chuckle low in his throat. “I believe that to be your title, is it not, captain Peter Lukas of The Tundra?”

Peter fixes him with a gaze that's near intoxicating, Elias in the background of Jonah’s consciousness wondering for himself what this man would be like in bed. The little imperceptible flare of nostrils, the ever so slight quickening of his heartbeat, and the look in his eyes of someone who wanted to conquer and destroy him. Peter Lukas could sense the streak of detachment with the world around him, and Elias wanted nothing more than to indulge him and prove him right.

Perhaps after this meeting, or perhaps never. 

“Perceptive of you, though I don't recall telling you about my ship,” he says as his gaze gets sharper, Elias’ skin prickling pleasantly at the attention on him.

“James was _quite_ thorough in naming our benefactors and giving me short biographies about them.” Unblinking, staring straight back with his grin taking up residence on his face. “You’ll have to forgive me, I am leaving little for you to say to introduce yourself properly to me, but I am _so_ curious. How does one such as yourself become a ship captain rather than utilize the family fortune in other ways?”

Sitting closer to the edge of his seat, Peter takes a moment to consider his words before he says, “I could tell you over dinner if you want me to sign off on the budget. I’m afraid that numbers talk bores me to tears, and if Nathaniel wanted to argue money semantics, he could have come himself.”

“Oh?” Uncrossing his legs and crossing them in the opposite direction, Elias visibly perks up. “Then perhaps I should get you to sign my uncensored budget that also includes the sorely needed office renovation I want. James might have been alright walking down the corridor to use the restroom, but I was spoiled positively _rotten_ by having my isolated little desk in the file room just steps away,” Elias mimicked walking with his fingers for a moment before dropping his hand back to his desk, “...from an otherwise unused single-stall. I miss the privacy, and I find socializing around urinals positively _dreadful_.”

“I can appreciate a bit of solitude,” Peter says it with a chuckle in his voice, louder than the last as he stands up and makes for one of the pens in the holder. “Here, let me sign off on it.” And he does, signing and dating the document opposite where Elias does the same. 

“Thank you Peter, I appreciate it,” slipping in as genuine thanks as he could stand. “Now I believe you mentioned dinner?”

“Unless you had other plans, or perhaps your family waiting at home.” Cheeky, certainly, to let himself get so caught up that Elias notices the curl of his lip at the word _family_. Ever the servant of The Lonely, even when propositioning him for what may be a very eventful night.

“Pleased to announce that I am a _confirmed_ bachelor, Mr. Lukas.” Pausing for a moment, he lets the meaning sink in, setting his pen down again on the desk mat. “Dinner sounds great right about now.” Elias truly wanted to make this as easy as possible for the both of them, standing up and moving to get his coat from the rack. It may not be playing fair to know now that Elias is _exactly_ Peter’s type, but it is a very surprisingly fortunate turn of events as Elias had been in the wrong place at the right time to let The Eye swallow him up to become a key player in this scenario.

“Please, just Peter is fine, Mr. Bouchard,” is all he can manage to say to him, Elias smirking even wider with his back turned to him before reigning it back in.

“Likewise, Peter, please call me Elias.” Smoothing his jacket, he then flips the overhead light off, the room swallowed in darkness, broken up only by the dim grey outside where the rain has begun falling quite harder now. The sun, wherever she may be, was getting close to setting, but the clouds were dark enough that it didn't matter in the slightest. The dark illuminated by the street lights and by traffic, each drop of rain reflecting back peacefully. A morose atmosphere that his company reveled in just the same as Elias. 

“Shall we then, Elias?”

They leave through the main entrance, Elias opening his umbrella so that his glasses were somewhat spared from the steady rain. He did not share the cover, nor did Peter ask him to or make to duck under. Selfish recognizing selfish, and each time he looked over at Peter, he was staring right back at him. 

He’s led to a place that Elias would have never stepped foot in under normal circumstances. Far too upscale and posh, though, Elias supposed a place like this was within his means now. It is startlingly empty, the one occupied table having finished paying their tab and are on their way out as Elias and Peter are sat. A restaurant on the eighth floor of a business development, sat next to high windows that overlooked the city below. It seemed so far away, so silent compared to the gentle drops of rain on the windowpanes. Whether it was natural or by Lonely design, Elias did not really care one way or another, rather caught up in Peter’s blatant lack of regard for shaking his coat out from the rain before taking his seat.

“Do you invite all heads of The Magnus Institute or otherwise to expensive dinners or am I the exception?” He _is_ , he _knows_ he is.

Peter considers him for a moment in the dim lighting of the restaurant, the silence of the place almost eerie if not for how in his _element_ he is. Cold opulence as a form of preening so he can spend far too much time most likely trying to make this into a game, Elias thinks. _Interesting_.

“I never liked Wright, he was a weird, creepy little man, God rest his sickening soul. But yes, you are the exception. I didn't expect to be so pleasantly surprised to enjoy the pleasure of your company, Elias.”

“And I expected to meet with a different person entirely, but I must say, I am equally pleased by your presence, Peter.”

They are interrupted by the waiter asking them their choice for wine. While Jonah had always been a red wine type of man, Elias adamantly demanded white; a pity that his tastebuds could no longer stand the deeper, earthier tones of a fine red. He would have to work on expanding his palate yet _again_ , possibly his least favorite part of the whole body switching ordeal. 

Their orders placed, wine brought and poured, Elias raises his glass and asks, “And what are we toasting to tonight?”

“A _great_ question, I suppose to a …mutually beneficial business relationship?”

“Amicability is off the table?” A quick response with a tilt of his head, pouting just so as he ever so slightly retracts his glass. Elias knows full well that he is not generally one to stick around long enough to let that sort of nonsense flourish, and neither is Peter.

“Is this more than business then?” That intense gaze is back, and even the sound of the rain feels muffled as Peter exerts _himself_. With all of The Lonely behind it, the _absence_ he feels from the world, it's _intoxicating_. Watcher he may be, but Elias is nearly drunk on the feeling of desolation swirling around him—his pulse quickens to a dull thud he can feel through his body, breath hitching as Peter’s oppressive nature threatens to consume him.

Peter is an utterly bleak, barren wasteland of a man, and Elias has _never_ wanted to be so close to someone before in his life. All thoughts of distance simultaneously cradled close and thrown out of the window entirely. The dispiriting atmosphere makes him grin as he holds his glass out further. 

“I’d rather this be pleasure,” Elias says, moving his leg under the table to rub ankles with Peter while tossing him a look that promised him the world. A forlorn world with no warmth to it, designed to be melancholic by nature. 

_Clink_.

“To pleasure, then.”

Dinner is lackluster and expensive, leaving Elias unsatisfied in quite a few ways. Absolutely perfect. 

Their evening starts when they grab a cab back to Elias’ flat; as soon as the door is closed, there is no illusion that there is anything else but pure _need_. Elias barely puts his coat up on the rack before Peter is turning him around to press him against the wall, bending down into a kiss that he feels down to his toes. 

As enlightening as it is as, Elias is a _brat_ , something Jonah will more than gladly lean into now. Ducking out of Peter’s grip, he snaps his fingers toward the ground and says, “Shoes off—if you track dirt onto my carpet I won’t be happy.” 

Through the eyes of the room, Elias can see the bemusement while his back is turned. He had barely been able to take the time yet to look for a newer place so he could move out of this shabby one, but he was not looking to impress right now. Rather, Elias is near giddy that Peter’s intentions so thoroughly mirrored his own.

“As you say, wouldn't want to make you mad at me over carpet.”

Absolute genius that he is, Elias had already packed a bowl that morning with the goal of coming home from work and smoking it, so it's already ready on the coffee table. Peter comes up behind him while he's lighting up and inhaling deep, and while Elias had been in this situation so many times before where he had someone come up behind him to wrap their arms around his waist, it was _never_ in his own flat. 

Maybe that's what is making this immediately so different, Peter is _here_ in his own space, and Elias had invited him in. _And_ it was always him mooching off of his fuck’s weed (if they had any, usually they did), never offering it up; that really does say something. Peter doesn't hesitate to take the pipe and the lighter from him when he holds it back.

“You’re _full_ of surprises, Mr. Bouchard,” Peter cuts himself off to light up, chin on his shoulder. Elias doesn't flinch at how close the lighter is to his face, settling comfortably back against him and feeling his chest rise. On his exhale he coughs and says, “ _Wow_.”

Elias just turns his head and smirks at him, grabbing the paraphernalia out of his hands so he can put it back down on the table for now. His head is already swirling as he pushes Peter down on the couch, climbing onto his lap and bending down into another kiss that is all the better with his head starting to swim. 

Peter’s lips are rough, clearly damaged by the sea, but Elias hardly minds it. Nor does he mind when Peter grabs him by the tie and pulls him closer, Elias moaning into his mouth at being _handled_. Nothing personal about it, absolutely perfect. Watching himself passively from fifteen different angles as he closes his eyes, they make an increasingly frantic pair. Opening his mouth into the kiss, Elias rests his forearms against Peter’s shoulders, fingers pushing gently through his hair while removing the tie that kept it up.

The ghost of affection, the closeness without connection. 

Peter groans into his mouth, other hand warm on his hip and still gripping his tie. When Elias tries to pull back, the grip gets a bit tighter, so he loosens the knot with a huffed laugh as he finally gets some distance. As the drugs hit, Elias can't believe how attractive the vacant air between them is, how stifling it is to be too far away. The feeling that he had been missing something is soothed by Peter’s very presence, and the more callous the intention behind each breath, the more the canyon felt filled with such a sense of isolation that it threatened to consume him.

Unbuttoning his suit coat, Elias tugs it off while Peter works on the buttons of the shirt underneath so it can be discarded to the floor. The feeling between them intensifies, Peter giving him a look that goes straight through him, then tugging him back into a kiss. It ends woefully quick, Peter instead finding a soft spot under his jaw to press his lips against—the rough pass of facial hair is _perfect_. Lips, tongue, teeth scratching down until he finds Elias’ pulse point and latched on, intending to leave a mark.

_Extraordinary_.

One might think leaving a mark to be a sign of intimacy, of closeness between two people sharing a passionate moment, but Elias could _feel_ the lack of sentiment behind it. A mark to ruin his day in the morning when he would inevitably get ready for work, perhaps, something that would be improper on the head of The Magnus Institute of all people to display at work so openly. The carelessness is _exhilarating_.

Clutching Peter’s head with one hand, the other snakes between them, fumbling for his belt; the groan Elias gets is his reward when his cold fingers touch the fabric over his cock. He is _not_ shy about slowly jerking him off through his underwear as Peter’s equally clammy hands reach for his nipples, squeezing roughly. 

All at once, Elias is overpowered, suddenly laying on his back and looking up at Peter looming over him. Giving Peter his best grin, Elias looks at himself from the cover of a book on a high shelf, looking debauched _already_ , arms up above his head against the couch cushions. He feels like he's about to hit the stratosphere right about now, and the longer Peter stares at him, the hotter his need to pull him down on top of him becomes.

“Having second thoughts?”

“Hardly,” Peter’s slightly grizzled voice reaches his ears as Elias’ trousers are unceremoniously tugged down without even a care for unbuckling the belt. The fabric squeezes and scratches him slightly as it's pulled down with his briefs, sighing as his cock hits the cold air between them. 

“Then _what_ is the hold up?” Impatient, sounding like the absolute prat he is because of how horny he is just from some kisses and a hickey. 

“I didn't expect to need a rubber johnny today.”

How… delightfully inconsiderate. Not the fact that he _didn't_ have a condom, that is _fine_ , but the carelessness that comes from not having protection is it's own sinister concept. But Elias truly was not feeling up to the mental gymnastics of deciding whether it was good or bad or in between. It had never _not_ been a part of his sexual escapades save for the incident in the nightclub so long ago.

This is different, of course, and Elias moves his leg to drape over the back of the couch while he stares up at Peter purely to display himself. His eyes darken and his hands twitch, and Elias leaves him hanging for an extended moment before he realizes Peter is being _polite_. Astonishingly, waiting for him to give the go ahead. 

“Who said I wanted you to wear one?”

Peter’s grin from six different angles hit Elias in six different ways, but even with all of the freaky powers of the Eye that Elias possesses, nothing could have prepared him for Peter dipping down and lifting him by the thighs. All of his eyes blink, and Elias quietly moans, arching his back away from the couch as Peter’s tongue goes straight to his hole. Letting out a shaky breath, Elias’ hand shoots down to sift through his hair, scratching his nails against his scalp as he's worked open.

_Oh._

That _is_ a new one, actually. 

Lips and tongue and the rough graze of Peter’s beard against the backs of his thighs makes Elias nearly _quake_. Sucking in another breath when his tongue pushes in even further, he can barely comprehend what he's feeling. The drugs only amplify each sensation, every wet slide and every wriggle inside twenty times more intense as his legs shake. The one draped over the couch bends sharper, the sole of his foot bumping hard into the wall, and the other gets pushed toward his chest and pinned there.

Elias can't believe that suddenly, he doesn't _care_ whether or not it widens the gulf between himself and human emotion. It just feels _good_ to be reduced to a whining mess with his cock leaking against his stomach at Peter’s unabridged mercy. Who could have guessed that all it took to shut down Elias’ brain off was a rimjob? 

It goes on much longer than Elias thinks any one man could enjoy eating ass, long enough for him to want to touch himself and get off. When his free hand moves down to do just that, Peter’s hand shoots up and catches him at the wrist, finally backing off and wiping his mouth with his other hand.

Groaning in disappointment, Elias hooks a leg around Peter’s neck as he sighs out, “I could marry that tongue of yours.” Breathing heavy with a wild look in his eyes.

“If I didn't know any better, I’d think that was a proposal, Elias,” Peter says a big breathless, still panting from exertion. 

“If _I_ didn't know any better, I’d have thought you’d be fucking me by now,” Moving his leg, he presses his foot to Peter’s shoulder, pushing him lightly for emphasis. 

“You’re much more of an impatient man that I expected, Mr. Bouchard.”

A given, hookups always going in the direction of as short as possible without being _too_ rude, but this is less about getting Peter out of the door and more wanting him _now_.

“And you are much more giving than I expected, Mr. Lukas, but so am I.”

No lube within reach, not even any cheap lotion, but the mere thought of sending him to the bedroom just to come back is _unbearable_. So Elias sits up and grabs the hem of Peter's sweater, tugging it up and then off, tossing it to the floor to be forgotten while he pulls him into a quick, hard kiss. He makes to lay him back down, but Elias has other plans, dropping down to kneel on the floor so he can look up at Peter. All he gets is a raised eyebrow, neither of them moving until Elias shoves his face into Peter’s lap, closing his eyes while his nose bumps into fabric. Inhaling, listening to Peter moan above him as rough fingers settle on his scalp.

The narcissism of watching himself as he mouths at Peter’s cock through his briefs is an even greater rush than the groan of appreciation he receives. Elias makes a hot sight for himself indeed, flushed and naked, fingers clawing at Peter’s trousers to pull everything down in one shot. He doesn't even wait for Peter to kick the rest of his clothing before he kisses up the shaft, opening his mouth to take the head in his mouth.

He knows what he's doing, of _course_ , but he wants to find what is going to make Peter break composure and take what he wants from him without a single thought. Elias wants to reach that moment where he snaps and pulls him up to fuck him, something he hasn’t quite been able to achieve just yet with someone by being his regular audacious, bratty self. Bobbing his head slowly and enjoying how thick he is, Elias can't imagine it will take too much longer.

Moving down, he uses _plenty_ of tongue, moaning when he feels Peter grip his short hair tight enough to pull him into a better position to watch. He's watching him from all his eyes, the way Peter leans back to watch him, looking at him with dark eyes as Elias relaxes his throat and goes for it. Down, further, moaning against what would have been a gag if he weren't so desperately into how hot he looks with a cock in his throat. 

When his nose reaches hair, his own cock throbs between his legs, whining low in his throat and then hurriedly pulling up for air. Both of them covered in spit with a line of it connecting them, he opens his eyes to blurrily look at Peter since his glasses are now slightly askew (though, he can see perfectly from many other angles). 

There’s a tense beat, but it breaks the moment Elias makes to get back to work sucking Peter off, letting out a noise of _genuine_ surprise when he's tugged up by his hair. With his heart hammering in his chest, Elias is forcibly positioned on the corner of the couch, kneeling and facing away. He isn't made to wait before he feels Peter line up and start sinking in.

“ _Fuck_.”

Reciprocated by a low groan, Peter pushes in just a little too quickly for him to keep up with, Elias’ breath leaving his lungs as fingers dig into his hips hard enough that they'll definitely leave some sort of bruise. His whole body is sensitive, skin burning up and hyper aware of every movement as Peter bottoms out and grinds into him.

As Peter starts up a brutal pace, Elias makes to slump over and brace himself on the arm of the couch, but he doesn't quite make it. A hand closes around his throat—not tight, just _there_ , pulling him back against a delightfully solid chest, just out of reach of being able to grab onto what he'd intended. A moan breaks in his chest, coming out in an absolutely pathetic rush as his head bumps against Peter’s shoulder. Instead, one of his hands grabs onto his forearm while his other arm goes back, hand threading into Peter’s hair and holding on for dear life while he's fucked. 

Watching himself makes it all the more intense, _too_ much now, and he can barely keep all the eyes open; his own shut first, then the rest around the room, and then _all_ of them, even the casual ones he left open in the back of his mind elsewhere. Suddenly, _Elias_ is enjoying this in a way he wasn't prepared for, back arched and wholly useless. He's forcibly moved so Peter can kiss him, light-headed and close to being overwhelmed as he gasps against rough lips. 

When his throat is let go and his hips are repositioned so Peter can fuck him deeper, Elias finally lets go of him so he can hunch over the arm of the couch with his dick trapped between a throw pillow and his stomach. He doesn't last much longer with the sudden friction and with Peter behind him, the obscene sounds of skin as his hips push back against Peter’s and hard breathing turning into grunts doing him in. He cums first, fucked through an orgasm he feels through his whole body. The aftershocks hit when he feels Peter bust inside of him, moaning pathetically as he pushes his hips back again to help him along.

It’s a couple of seconds of desperation to keep chasing the feeling before Elias opens his eyes, and then a couple more around the room to look at how debauched and depraved he looks when Peter pulls out and sits back on the couch behind him. Taking a deep, shaky breath, he moves to stand but doesn't quite make it, sitting down hard on the couch cushion and instead leaning forward to grab his pipe to crush down some more weed so he doesn't have to look at Peter yet face to face. Behind him, he's smirking _so_ infuriatingly now that Elias has gotten what he's wanted.

Hasn’t he?

“You gonna share that?”

Holding the smoke in his lungs, he puts the pipe down and takes his glasses off before turning to crawl into Peter’s lap, exhaling against his mouth as he gets pulled into a messy kiss. His nerves are back on fire as he feels cum start leaking down his thigh, but all it does is immediately get him desperate to have dick in him again for how powerfully empty he feels.

He guides himself, grabbing Peter’s still hard cock and lining the head up with his hole, sinking back down onto him. Hands find his hips as their torsos press together, smearing Elias’ first orgasm between them. This time he does more of the work, riding Peter’s dick even as he grabs the leg of the coffee table to pull it closer so he can grab the pipe to take another hit, blowing smoke in his’ face. His forearms have been draped on Peter’s shoulders, but he moves one hand back to his thigh, digging his fingernails in hard while the other set scrapes the back of his neck.

When his legs start to shake from the effort and his high starts crashing back into him, Peter flips them so he's on his back, fucking him harder than before. The roll of his hips is _incredible_ , Elias reaching around him to dig his fingernails into his back instead—hard enough to draw blood—as he hangs on. Overwhelmed and overstimulated, clinging close as he drags him closer. With his face tucked against Peter’s neck, he takes the opportunity to clamp down with his teeth in a place that would _definitely_ leave a very inconsiderate, visible mark. Less of a hickey and more with the intent of taking a chunk out if he were feeling more ruthless. 

Peter’s rhythm stutters then from the hit of pain, but the moan in his ear tells him it’s _fine_. Especially the shudder he can feel when he takes his teeth out and soothes the spot with his tongue, grunting at a particularly _vengeful_ thrust. Still, he moves his mouth and sucks on a different spot, using his teeth again. Down to another spot, a little more gently, and then letting his head fall to the side while his nails scrape down Peter’s back.

He’s first to cum again, helpless to his orgasm crashing into him without being touched. For the _second_ time. Peter does stop, making Elias groan as he goes upright to change the position again. When he pulls out, Elias can't even be bothered to watch as he's turned over on his stomach, rearranged on his knees with his face pressing against the pillow with his cum already on it. He’s all sorts of keyed up even if he feels like he needs another hit, but fuck if he wants to even attempt moving when Peter slides back in.

The angle makes him feel more full, and with his hips in the air while he's otherwise flat, he feels _boneless_. When he tries to grab onto any part of Peter, his wrists are caught and he’s grabbed by the back of the neck and pushed into immobility while he's _used_.

That feeling of being absolutely owned to be discarded with zero tenderness behind it.

Elias Bouchard feels _seen_ in a way that people in the past had never been able to achieve. Jonah included, who lets Elias have this moment to himself, as much of a backseat driver as he is.

With his heart beating shallowly in his chest, Elias huffs a hard breathless sound when Peter empties himself into him, a loud groan following. They breathe roughly and in tandem together, Elias finally feeling _understood_. He can't help grinning as he blindly feels around for his glasses with his one arm only moving, finding them and putting them back on his face. The feeling fades _very_ , however.

Behind him, Peter pulls out, and Elias looks on at the rush of semen that follows and drips down his thighs. Peter takes a long look at him before Elias shakily stands up and heads for the bathroom without a word and without making any attempt to care about the mess on him until he's turned the water of the shower on.

It’s not long until he hears Peter pull the curtain back and step in with him, but Elias doesn’t look back at him, washing himself of his _…strenuous_ day. Now that he has gotten off and come back to his _senses_ , he’s ready to be left alone. It is probably reflex at this point to be so thoroughly ready to _leave_ , except for the one problem being that Peter is now in _his_ space. In his personal flat, in the shower with him after some …intense sex. Jonah back behind the reins completely of his body, Elias looks back at him _annoyed_. 

“You went off in a hurry, something the matter?”

The game they’re both playing is to see how _little_ the other person cares for them. A game that he can already see is going to be… difficult. Especially with institute funding potentially on the line; a stupid maneuver from a horny man to sleep with his benefactor. Though he knows Peter is a devout follower of The Lonely, he has no doubt that if given the room, he would be able to cause significant problems. He would _bet_ on it.

The immediate distrust radiates from him, Elias has no doubt, but he sees Peter smirk from the eyes of Mr. Bubble (who rested on the bottom inside edge of the tub for when a bath is in order). No doubt thinking about their situation as well has having _no_ apparent concept of personal space as he comes to stop behind his back so he can reach around and grab his cock. 

“I assumed we were done, are we not?”

“Why don’t you tell me?” The look on his face is wicked, Elias knowing that _Peter_ knows he’s not going to say so. Especially as he starts jerking him off—having not been touched all night, even after having gotten off twice, he’s _excruciatingly_ sensitive. “Besides, that little bite on my neck _hurt_ , are you going to apologize?”

“I have nothing to apologize for,” Elias says as he’s leaned back against him with his head against his shoulder, a little bit too worn out to bite back more. He will _not_ say sorry and admit he had ever thought it in the first place since he hadn’t.

Peter jerks him off slowly as they stand under the water, Elias quietly sighing into his neck as he starts to relax. He _should_ be kicking him out, especially with the momentary fury at his own expense for allowing this to get so far, but this has been an extremely ...enlightening experience. So maybe he could allow it to go on even further if he were going to use this as a learning opportunity.

“Alright then,” Peter says as he lets him go and moves to open the curtain so he can step out of the shower.

His traitorous body follows for a moment before he turns around and asks, “Leaving so soon?” Elias grabs him on the wrist, hand snapping up to do so. Peter looks down at his hand and then back up to him. “I said I had nothing to apologize for, but don’t start things you won’t finish.”

“So you’re asking me to stay?”

Letting go of his wrist, Elias turns back to grab his shampoo. “You can if you want, I have no feeling either way.” 

_Annoyingly_ , Peter hops out of the shower, meaning that he was losing his nonverbal bet after all for how his chest burned in disappointment and anger. He watches Peter use his suit jacket as a towel and jizz rag, then he gathers his clothing and gets dressed. He leaves without locking the door, though it isn’t left wide open.

* * *

The temperature in the room had been steadily dropping for the past fifteen minutes, and Elias _finally_ can no longer stand it. Putting his pen down on the stack of half finished paperwork he _should_ to get through before he left for the night, Elias sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger under his glasses. “You can come out now.”

“That was rather quick, what was the matter? Too cold?”

“Absolutely not,” Elias says, turning to where Peter had manifested behind him, leaning against the windowsill. Standing up, he goes up to Peter and gets on his toes to drop a kiss under his chin. “You’re hours early for dinner, though.”

“I got back to port earlier than expected, calm seas today.”

“Shame a storm didn’t knock you off course,” he says as he turns around to turn his lamp off, then his computer. Once it’s powering down, he smooths his waistcoat down, reaching for his suit jacket to put it on in every attempt to beat the winter chill hanging in the air even despite Peter’s presence. “I suppose I have some errands to run if you feel like accompanying me.”

“I would rather have a tooth pulled, but _I_ suppose it will be quicker than calling my dentist,” Peter says, extending his arm out in front of himself in a slow sweep to have Elias lead the way. “Shall we then, Elias?”

They leave through the main entrance, Elias opening his umbrella so that his glasses are somewhat spared from the steady rain. This time he does share the cover, Peter ducking under in an attempt to ward off the elements. Caring recognizing caring, and each time he looks over at Peter, he is staring right back at him.


End file.
